Stranded
by Dragonsbane1611
Summary: (GWC) "Up late twice this week, you say" Arthur smiled, reading the early edition, "And sweet wrappers in the bin? Perhaps we should have her parents round for dinner. I remember our first date."


_**Stranded  
**__DragonsBane1611  
__Tue-Mon.10-16.May.2005_

A leather pouch lay on its side on the hearth rug, not far from a small fire. Inside, a purplish-coloured slug made slow, persistent progress to the open end. Suddenly, the bag was snatched up and a bright blue eye peered into it curiously.

"Eugh," the owner of the eye grimaced, thrusting the bag out at arm's length. "I always manage to get masses of grape. You like grape?"

"Sure, let's have it," the girl beside him grinned, taking the bag and drawing out the purple slug. It squirmed between her fingers.

Ron's face paled and he swallowed thickly, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

"Oh, and it's just grape you don't like?" Hermione chuckled, taunting him with the bewitched candy until he backed away from her and wrenched his head in the other direction. "I think I see a cherry one. Would you like it?"

"No, thanks!"

She laughed out loud and bit into the jelly slug mercilessly.

"It's alright, Ron," she said, "It's gone."

He peeked at her out of the corner of one narrowed eye. When he found her finishing off the purple treat, he gave his shoulders and head a shake as if physically banishing the remembrance of the slugs from his brain.

"Still haven't gotten over second year, I see," she commented, and rather pompously, Ron thought.

"If you care to remember," he began in a heated tone, wagging a finger at her, "I was only … I was …"

Hermione was smiling at him in such a way he found he'd forgotten his point and quickly dropped his hand, ears reddening.

"I remember just fine, Ron," she confided, leaning toward him slightly as she spoke. "Did I ever thank you for that?"

"Probably not, no," he sighed pitifully, hugging his knees and resting his head on them. She made a noise of incredulity and swatted his arm with her fingertips when he grinned. Stretching out his legs, he leaned back on his palms and surveyed the floor around them. It was littered with the remnants of a stash of sweets that had somehow managed to survive since his last trip to Honeydukes before summer holidays. Amongst the remains, he hoped to catch sight of the lone chocolate frog he'd been saving, but to no avail. Instead, he spied a package of black currant sugar quills and reached for them. Sucking the end of one into his mouth, he raised his eyebrows inquisitively while holding another out to Hermione.

She declined, saying, "I don't like black currant."

"You sure you're English?" he queried, replacing the quill with the others.

"Mostly," the girl answered, mimicking his pose, but crossing her legs at the ankles. "So when will Harry be here?"

"Sooner the better," he said thoughtfully, "but no one's said anything to me about it."

They sat in silence for a moment, Hermione watching the fire and Ron enjoying his sugar quill as he rolled his feet back and forth, all the while trying to remember if he'd already eaten the chocolate frog, and if so, whose Famous Witch and Wizard Card was in it.

"Aha," he spoke suddenly, sitting up and grabbing for a bag of levitating sherbet balls. "I know you like these."

"Tempting as it is, I really shouldn-"

"Oh, come on, Mione," her friend insisted, "It's one night. You hardly ever eat any sweets when we're at school. You're parents aren't going to know."

After a slight hesitation, she conceded and took one. Within moments, she was hovering a few inches off the ground and laughing happily.

Ron smiled widely and watched as she did a goofy little dance in mid-air while his sub-conscious thought, perhaps, he'd opened the box and the chocolate frog had made a mad dash for safety. Soon, she descended and returned to her place beside him.

"That was great," he told her, still smiling and definitely concluding that he had never even touched the chocolate frog except for when he bought it and when he packed it.

Coyly, she shook her head, "Thanks, but no." When she went to lean, once again, on her palms, she misjudged her placement and her hand covered his. "Oh," she breathed and retracted her hand as he did the same and looked from her hand to her face and then away, forgetting any thoughts of the missing chocolate frog.

"Those sherbet balls really dry your mouth," Hermione reclaimed the conversation that was quickly fading into awkwardness, "I should like glass of water. You?"

He didn't quite meet her eyes when he looked back and nodded, "Oh, yes, that sounds nice."

Quickly, she got to her feet and made for the kitchen, heat rising in her cheeks. Rummaging in the unfamiliar cupboards bought her a few moments in which the colour began to recede. She found two glasses and, filling them with water, started for the great room, pausing just outside.

Ron had bent a knee and was resting his elbow on it lazily, running his fingers over his mouth restlessly. Suddenly, he looked down at himself and straightened his t-shirt before tugging uselessly at the pajama pants that ended just shy of his ankles. He slid himself backwards a bit so he could rest his back against the sofa and ran his hands through his untidy ginger hair. In an attempt at nonchalance, he rested his other arm on the sofa and turned slightly to where Hermione had been seated. Seeing the sugar quill sticking out of his mouth, he tossed it away and scanned the floor for something. In a second, he had lunged for a peppermint and was trying to look casual all over again.

Moving away from the door, Hermione downed one of the waters before entering the room again. He was unwrapping the peppermint as she approached and then he proceeded to choke on it after he popped it into his mouth.

Kneeling beside him, she set the glasses down and beat on his back with one hand to dislodge the rogue mint. Dislodge, it did and with a cough, went flying right into Hermione's empty glass. She picked it up and looked into it from the side.

"Sorry about that," he apologized. "You can have mi- Is yours empty?"

"Thirstier than I thought," she shrugged and noticed Ron looking strangely at her other arm which was connected to the hand that remained on his back. "Would you look at this floor?" she exclaimed without warning, leaving his side and beginning to pick up wrappers, putting them in the glass with the peppermint. "Your mother would have a fit if she came in just now."

"Oh, y-yeah," he agreed, helping with the clean-up. Something crunched under Hermione's knee as she crawled around and she sat back to examine whatever she'd stepped in. Ron turned to find her pulling his hastily discarded sugar quill from her pajamas.

"Yours?" she asked, holding it lightly between her forefinger and thumb like a dead fish.

"Sorry about that," he repeated, taking it from her and adding it to the trash in his hands. He looked as if he thought dying from the peppermint would have been a treat had his timing been a bit better, and felt much the same way.

"Think nothing of it," Hermione told him, seeing his furtive glances at the sticky stain on her pant leg, "I know a spell that will clean this right up."

"Of course you do, sure," he mumbled to himself, as they both got to their feet. "Here," he offered, "I'll take that."

"It's alri-"

"No, really, I insist," Ron interrupted, reaching for the glass in her hand. She handed it to him and watched as he headed out of the room. Seeing his untouched water glass on the floor at her feet, she took it and followed after him. He went to the rubbish bin under the kitchen sink and emptied the contents of the glass before setting it in the sink. Turning, he rested against the counter, but jumped when he caught sight of her.

"You shouldn't sneak up on a guy like that, Hermione!" he chided, catching his breath.

She held out the glass, "You forgot your water."

He took it from with a relieved, "Thanks." Waving it in the general direction of her knee he added, "You'd better get to that spell. I'm off to bed."

Hermione nodded as he started to leave.

"Ron," she called, taking a step after him. He turned and raised his eyebrows. "Er, uh … _do_ be quiet on the stairs. Everyone else is asleep, you know."

Shaking his head with an exasperated chuckle, "Goodnight, Hermione."

He left her there by the sink and after a moment she whispered, "Goodnight."

* * *

By the next morning, both Ron and Hermione had agreed in that way in which two people agree, but don't actually verbalize their agreement, rather, keeping it on display in the shelving unit of their respective brains under the heading of "For The Sake Of Sanity And All That Is Right In The World" that any of the awkwardness had been unwarranted and, most probably, imagined due to an overdose of magical sweets. One thing this agreement didn't include, however, was how to proceed after such an unwarrantedly awkward and, most probably, imagined encounter.

Hermione concluded that she would go on just as she was sure Ron would and avoid any mention of the previous night's interaction. Thus, she would avoid him altogether and at all cost of her dignity and/or pride. In example, one does not often make a suicide dive behind a row of potted hydrangeas for the mere thrill. Ginny pointed this out to the other girl's left leg as it dangled, caught in a neighboring umbrella stand

"Is he gone?" asked a wheezing hydrangea.

Ginny knelt to speak to it face-to-petal.

"You'll have to please try to be a tad more specific."

"Your brother. Is he gone?"

The ginger-haired girl paused a moment.

"You'll have to please try to be a tad more sp-"

When she realized the plant was glowering at her, she stopped and left it for a chocolate frog she had stolen from the very brother in question the day before while also nicking most of his jelly slugs, save the grape ones. She hated grape.

Ron, on the other hand, was quite confident that the Hermione he knew would be unable to do anything without first starting an argument with him about why grape was quite better than black currant which would then lead into a rehashing of the sugar quill incident, and therefore, in a roundabout way, bring her to the ultimate question of why the sugar quill was anywhere but in his mouth, let alone, of all places, the part of the floor to which her knee would have soon delivered her. So, thinking it best to get the rigmarole over with, about the time everyone else was preparing for bed, he found the rarely used great room of the old house and set himself as comfortably as could be managed on a settee which looked to be older than Hogwarts and just as ugly as it was old.

HOOT.

FLAP-FLAP.

HOOT.

THWUMP.

HOOT.

FLAP-FLAP-FLAP.

HOO-OOT.

THWUMP.

"What in God's nam-?"

"What are you doing in here?" Ginny asked as she tramped past in house-slippers shaped like owls, reading something in her hand.

"Why do you keep stomping like that?" he frowned.

"The left one keeps trying to take off, but I'm too heavy," she explained as her slipper began to hoot and flap its down-stuffed wings wildly.

HOO-OOT.

FLAP-FLAP-FLAP.

Her left leg lifted slowly and then dropped with a THWUMP.

"Tell me again: why exactly are you in here all alone?"

"I find it quite nice, with the fire and all."

"Right," his sister murmured skeptically.

Looking around for an excuse, he added, "Perhaps, I'll read a book. It helps me relax."

"You should have stopped at 'nice'. Now I really don't believe you. Goodnight, Ron," she said, pocketing her recently collected eighth copy of Ethelred the Ever-Ready.

"Goodnight."

And there he waited, contentedly so, as the large clock on the wall ticked away the minutes quietly. After about an hour, a portrait above the fireplace arched an unimpressed eyebrow and said, "Well?"

Ron cast a brief glance in its direction, but ignored it for the most part as he continued to wait.

The portrait cleared its painted throat and offered, "Oh, come _on_ then."

This time, the young man on the couch frowned up at the portrait, but still didn't say anything.

Adjusting his monocle and giving his waistcoat a violent tug, he spat, "Well, I never!" in such a way that his weak eye bulged dangerously out of the socket and his moustache was ruffled in the process. A noise was heard behind the couch and Ron sat up to peer over the back and into the hallway, lit only by the fire. An umbrella rolled in the stand as if recently disturbed, but he could see no one else except for the row of potted hydrangeas he thought he had heard his sister speaking to that afternoon. He turned back with a mind to ask the man in the portrait who he'd been talking to when he found the frame empty. Shrugging, he dropped back down onto the couch.

After a moment he laughed to himself, "Talking hydrangeas? Maybe I _should_ go to bed."

"Yes, I think you should," the portrait agreed stiffly as it cleaned its monocle, having returned to its original pose. "The sneaky little twit is obviously not coming in, is she?"

The umbrella stand gasped.

Sitting up, Ron's confused gaze went between the empty hallway (empty save for the gasping umbrella stand and talking hydrangeas) and the severely-faced portrait.

"_Excuse_ me?" he said, finally.

"Her!" the mustachioed-man gestured irritably, still cleaning his eyepiece.

Ron squinted into the hallway, but saw only the umbrella still rocking in it's stand.

"Who's out there? Hermione?" he called standing up slowly, sure to keep his eyes focused on whatever it is he was supposed to be focusing on, which at this moment was nothing but a silly umbrella whose handle, he now noticed, was shaped like an otter.

"I mean, _otters_ … Honestly," huffed the portrait, replacing the eyeglass and stretching his brush-stroked neck..

Briefly narrowing his eyes at the painting before turning to admire the wooden-rendering of the freshwater mammal, he said, "I happen to like otters quite a lot, actually."

The umbrella stand was positively beaming.

He returned the smile for only a moment, then rounded sharply on the man in the portrait.

"And I'd watch wh-"

_The umbrella stand was positively beaming?_

He spun on his heel and found the stand quite vacant of any expression whatsoever and completely still. Ron looked back at the portrait, and then to the stand, and then both again until he paused, not looking at either as he scratched his head.

The clock chimed two-o'clock and he dropped his arm heavily.

"Yep, going to bed," he decided starting for the stairs. Just as he started up them he stopped and crouched low to peer into the great room through the spindles in the railing and then over the side at the umbrella stand now below him. For all he could tell, everything was just how it should be: silent and motionless. Shaking his head he muttered, "I'm losing it," before disappearing from view.

The umbrella stand exhaled slowly and the portrait grunted.

"Don't know how he missed you then," he stated as Hermione got to her feet behind the stand.

"Much too dark to see anything, really," she reasoned, dusting off her pajama bottoms. "And what, might I ask, is so wrong with otters?"

The painted man's eyes closed and shoulders shuddered in the slightest way.

"It's a long story, but … I suppose we have ti-"

He stopped when he opened his oil-painted eyes and saw that even the umbrella stand and potted hydrangeas were no longer present. The portrait of Fionan O'Petrie was almost alone. Almost, only because the fire had yet to realize that his friends (the umbrella stand and hydrangeas) had deserted him.

"It's just me and you, again, fireplace," he said fondly, looking down at the mantle and the orange glow that shone from beneath it. "Did I ever tell you about the otters?"

The fire promptly went out.

* * *

HOOT.

FLAP-FLAP.

HOOT.

THWUMP.

"Wouldn't it be so much easier to just wear your old slippers that aren't fashioned after birds?" the pillow on the bed asked ere the girl who'd just entered could even open her mouth to speak.

HOOT.

FLAP-FLAP-FLAP.

FLAP-FLAP-FLAP-FLAP.

Ginger tufts of hair waved madly, almost as if they were rioting for being awoken so early when Ron hastily pulled his head from under the pillow to see if the slippers had taken his sister for a ride. Instead, he saw that she'd only taken the left one off and it was flouncing around the room quite happily.

HOO-OOT.

FLAP-FLAP-FLAP-FLAP.

"You're in a right state, circles under your eyes and things," Ginny commented through a yawn, sitting down on the bed across from him.

Her brother sat up in a sleepy haze.

"The umbrella stand was smiling at me last night."

Ginny stopped mid-yawn and blinked at him.

HOOT.

HOOT.

"Did it offer to buy you a drink, as well, then?"

Ron looked at her oddly, "No."

His sister made a noise of derision and shook her head, "Such a tease, that stand."

FLAP-FLAP-FLAP.

For a short period of time, he wondered if perhaps this was a very dull dream, but then the renegade owl slipper flapped one of it's stuffed wings into his right eye and he swore loudly.

"That _can _be quite a shock in the morning," Ginny nodded, snatching the owl from the air and putting it once again on her foot. The slipper would not be tamed, however and found that when the girl was seated, it could manage to hover a few inches off the ground if it kept it's wings moving.

FLAP-FLAP-FLAP-FLAP-FLAP-FLAP.

"Anyway, if the stand didn't do anything but smile at you, why then, were you up so late?"

"Just was."

THWUMP.

"_Reading_, I suppose, eh?" Ginny snorted as she stood up. "You should just tell me what you were doing down there. It's not like I'm going to tell anyone."

"I don't see why you're so interested. Maybe I was watering the hydrangeas, what does it matter?"

After a slight pause, the girl's lip curled, "If that's some kind of innuendo …"

Ron was taken aback.

"What?"

HOOT.

FLAP-FLAP-FLAP.

She wagged a finger at him wordlessly before leaving and shutting the door behind her.

THWUMP.

Still rather tired and now thoroughly bewildered, Ron flung himself back onto his pillows. Occasionally, he could hear a muffled THWUMP, but it was fading. She must be going down to breakfast, he thought and decided that a bite to eat couldn't hurt. Groggily, he made his way to the kitchen.

FLAP-FLAP-FLAP-FLAP-FLAP-FLAP-FLAP-FLAP.

Ginny was already there sitting beside Hermione, the two of them conversing quietly as Mrs. Weasley bustled around the kitchen.

"Good morning," Remus Lupin smiled over his morning tea as he read the latest edition of the Daily Prophet at the end of the table.

HOO-OOT.

Ron dropped into a chair beside him and yawned somewhat loudly, shaking his head.

"Why are you so tired, dear?" his mother asked, setting his breakfast down in front of him. "I would have thought you'd save your late nights for when Harry comes."

"When is he coming?" he asked, grabbing a fork.

FLAP-FLAP-FLAP.

"We're getting him tomorrow, I believe," Lupin told him. "Would have done it today, but I'm afraid something's come up and we can't risk the trip with so few of us available."

It occurred to Ron that the table was quite empty with just the five of them.

"Where is everyone?"

The older man looked as if he was about to speak, but a glare from Mrs. Weasley cut him off.

HOOT.

HOOT.

"Order business," was all the answer she would offer.

"Yeah, yeah, _order business_," he muttered. Ron hated that answer, but figured he'd know soon enough and started on his breakfast. A strange scent caught his attention and he frowned, biting into a sausage. Sniffing the air again, his brow knitted in disbelief.

"What is it?" his mother demanded, leaning over him. "Something wrong with your breakfast, Ron?"

"Hydrangeas," came the simple answer.

Blinking as if she didn't hear him, the woman cocked her head slightly, "What?"

Swallowing, he shook his head again and picked up his toast.

"I smell hydrangeas. I just found it odd."

THWUMP.

Ginny's lip curled again and Hermione's expression was one of discomfort.

"What?" his mother asked again.

Remus took a deep breath and nodded, "Now that you mention it, I can smell them, too. Strange, as the ones I was keeping in the hallway weren't there this morning. Quite fragrant today, though, present or not." He shrugged and went back to his newspaper.

Soon after that, Hermione decided she was quite full and excused herself from the table and Ron didn't give another thought to the hydrangeas as he finished his breakfast. When he went back upstairs to change out of his pajamas, he passed a very wet Hermione as she exited the bathroom.

"Hermio-" he began.

"Shower's free," was all she said as she disappeared behind the door to the room she and Ginny shared. Ron wondered if that was a hint and, deciding in this case that it was better to be safe than sorry, took a shower.

* * *

Watching him from her place behind the umbrella stand and hydrangeas had taught Hermione something. Number one: doing as such is a dirty business as, apparently, no one ever cleans behind umbrella stands and potted hydrangeas. Number two: she couldn't help but feel a bit lonely watching him be so lonely, talking to that rude portrait above the fireplace. He hadn't seemed _that _lonely, though, as she thought about it the next day. In fact he seemed quite happy, waiting there, all alone, for something that didn't come.

"Come to hear about the otters, I presume."

Hermione realized she had made her way to the great room and the portrait which dwelled there was looking quite smug. Glaring at him thoughtfully, she flopped onto the ancient couch and crossed her arms.

"Who _are _you?" she asked. "I don't remember you ever hanging there before. In fact, I don't remember you at all."

"Fionan O'Petrie of Cork."

She raised an eyebrow and waited for him to continue.

He didn't.

"But why are you hanging in this house? All the other portraits are of the Black family."

Fionan shuddered and made a face, "Dreadful bunch, aren't they?"

Again, she waited, hoping he would explain himself a little more.

Again, he didn't.

"_Who ar_-?"

He interrupted her with a wave of his hand as he took down his monocle to rub a cloth over the lens.

"Oh, fine, fine. I'd heard you were insistent, but good Lord, can't a painting hang in peace?"

"You'd heard …?"

"I happen to be an old friend of the headmaster."

"Professor Dumbledore?"

"Who else?" he frowned.

"But why …?"

"I'm good for conversation," he smiled.

"Here?"

With a quick glance around he gave a quick nod, "So it would seem."

"But that's …"

As good as he was for conversation, the portrait was growing quite weary of this particular conversation and decided to change the subject.

"Did you want to hear about the otters or not?"

Hermione made a face but agreed to listen.

"Ah, I thought you might. It all started just after I'd opened a pub in Galway …"

"You're a barman?" Hermione was skeptical.

"Yes."

"A barman in a waistcoat and tails?"

"It's a portrait. What does my attire have to do with anyth-?"

"Hermione?" Ron's voice could be heard calling for her upstairs.

"Oh, bother," Fionan groaned. "Here we go again. The umbrella stand won't hide you today, young miss. It's too bright with the sun shining and things." She stopped halfway to the stand in question and narrowed her eyes at him, opening her mouth to speak.

"Hermione?" Ron tried again, sounding much closer. She chose to save her retort for another time and bolted out of the room.

"Young love," the portrait huffed, replacing it's eyeglass. "Waste of time."

"Hermione?" the ginger-haired young man said, entering the room.

"Not here," O'Petrie informed him.

"Did you see where she went?"

"Sorry."

Ron sat down on the couch to have think. It didn't take much to see that he was being avoided; and quite successfully at that.

"So, would _you_ like to know about the otters?"

Giving him a wary glance, Ron told him, "Nope," and left the portrait to talk to himself.

* * *

Hermione haunted the shadows all through the ancient house as the day wore into evening, and then into night. She had revisited the umbrellas a number of times after nightfall (the hydrangeas had been taken outside after Mrs. Weasley found the row of hydrangeas separated, each flowerpot hidden behind a different, though, each just as ghastly upholstered – or so thought Mrs. Weasley – set of wingchairs) and was unsettled by what she saw. Or, rather, what she _didn't_ see (potted plants aside).

"Where _is_ he?" she wondered aloud, passing the fire-lit room for the eighteenth time in two hours. She could hear Lupin in the kitchen laughing with Nymphadora Tonks who had arrived a few hours before. Hermione narrowed her eyes at a loose floor panel when she realized the adults would probably be awake for quite awhile longer and Ron probably wouldn't chance lounging around in the great room with that dratted chatty portrait. (To the floor panel's credit, it had no part keeping the others awake, and could do nothing to usher them to bed any sooner, but at the moment, it became the manifestation of the young lady's rotten luck and, therefore, bore the full wrath of the hairiest of eyeballs she could muster.) Still, the girl didn't want to give up hope just yet.

MMMB.

MMMB.

Hermione shrunk into the shadows and watched as Ginny came out of the kitchen and started up the stairs.

MMMB.

MMMB.

THWAM.

"Quite your blasted humming or I'll have your head!"

MM-

THWAM.

From her place, Hermione could see thick string tied around the beak of the left owl-slipper. There were also bands, tied much like shoelaces, that kept the wings held down firmly. The bewitched footwear struggled uselessly in its bonds and continued it's futile attempts to hoot properly. Once again, Ginny slammed her foot down with a THWAM and marched upstairs.

"I should get her a good set of muggle slippers," Hermione noted to herself, moving to look into the great room again.

"Ah, he's not coming tonight, is he?" the portrait taunted. "Might as well have a seat and hear about the otters. I mean, you _did_ ask what was wrong with them, didn't you?"

"Thanks, but no. Lapse in judgment. 'Night," she said curtly, retreating up the stairs. She would come back later, hopefully, after the portrait had haphazardly fallen into the fire below it. Or nodded off, whichever came first.

As she reached her floor, she could hear Ginny attempting to tame her slipper in the room that they shared and Ron gargling in the ba-

THWAM.

throom. The gargling was interrupted by the sound of coughing and spluttering and then, of someone fumbling with the doorknob. Hermione froze where she was as the door to the bathroom swung open and Ron stormed toward Ginny's room with, presumably, mouthwash all down his front.

"Give me that damned slipper!" he demanded, pushing the door open and holding out his hand.

"Why?"

"I'm going to kill it," was his simple answer.

"You'll do no such thing!" Ginny argued. "Get out!" Ron recoiled as the bound-faux-fowl was chucked at his head. It dropped to the ground and began to hop toward him and he gave it a swift foot to the underside, sending it flying back into the room with a very long and fading MMMMMMMMMB.

"You killed it!"

"It's probably just knocked out," Ron said, rather smilingly. "And, anyway, it's just a slipper. It can't really die."

"Get out!" his sister ordered, pelting the other slipper at him, which he caught. It nipped affectionately at his fingers and cooed, rubbing its stuffed-head against his hand. His lip curled and he tossed it back just as Ginny slammed the door in his face. He rubbed his thumbs over his fingertips almost as if they had something sticky on them and ducked back into the bathroom to wash his hands and gargle properly. Never once did he notice Hermione, wide-eyed and straight-backed pretending to be invisible at the top of the stairs.

As soon as she heard him resume his gargling, she made her way once again down the stairs to wait for him, quite confident he was merely keeping up the appearance of his nightly routine for his mother, who was rooming on the floor above them and probably listening quite closely to what her children were doing on the floor below. Hermione made her perch just outside the great room, so as to not alert O'Petrie to her presence, and waited.

* * *

And waited.

* * *

And waited, yet, more.

* * *

"This is rubbish," a very dejected Hermione grumbled to herself, padding her way heavily to the stairs. If only she hadn't been such an idiot the night before, she thought. He had been right there, waiting for her for over an hour and she didn't have the nerve to even stand up and scold him for staying up so late. She cursed silently and mounted the last stair.

* * *

A foul taste formed on Molly Weasley's tongue as she studied the wingchair in the corner of the room she was occupying. She tucked the potted hydrangea she'd just removed from behind it into the crook of her arm and shook her head. Her distant cousins had either no taste in fine upholstery, or were completely blind. With a name like Black, what could you expect? The woman laughed quietly at her own little joke, but it ended shortly with a sigh. Mischief notwithstanding, she did miss Sirius. Shaking her head with a sad smile, she went to put the hydrangea with the others on the back stoop.

* * *

After coming to terms with the fact that he was being avoided, it didn't take Ron long to figure out that the umbrella stand was not pulling him last night with it's wide smiles, but that they had been Hermione's slips of the tongue – or, lips, rather. Fully knowing it was quite outside of his personality to do so, he determined to catch her in the act with complete disregard to how forward it may seem. Making sure to give her a good long wait behind the umbrella stand, he smiled at his reflection. Good. Cupping a hand in front of his mouth, he breathed into it. Good. (Might as well pull out all the stops, right?)

Ron exited the bathroom and pressed an ear to Ginny and Hermione's room. All he could hear were the faint sounds of his sister reviving the owl-slipper. Smirking to himself, he pulled out his wand.

_Crack!_

_Pop!_

"Oh, you've got your license!" O'Petrie clapped excitedly, spying Ron when he apparated into the hallway. The new arrival quickly moved the umbrella stand, cursed silently to himself and raised his wand again.

_Crack!

* * *

_

"Hermione!" Mrs. Weasley gasped, dropping the potted hydrangea.

Hermione's jaw dropped open.

_Pop!_

"Hermione," Ron growled, mostly out of relief. "I've been waiting for you."

The girl's mouth moved soundlessly from the young man in front of her to his mother whose eyes were blazing behind him.

"I've been waiting," he said, putting his hands on her arms, "for this."

And then he kissed her. Suddenly, clumsily, and quite forcefully, he kissed her.

"_Ronald Weasley_!" his mother shrieked, stomping forward just as he pulled away with a bewildered expression on his face. When he saw the small smile on Hermione's face, he started to return it until Mrs. Weasley's thumb and forefinger pinched the cup of his ear. Ginny's door flung open and once she'd caught sight of her brother being dragged away by their fuming mother, she laughed her little ginger-haired head off.

His mother pushed him into his room and turned on the girls whom she ordered straight to bed and said she'd be back in two minutes to make sure they were under the covers and sleeping soundly. As soon as she was down the stairs, Hermione peeked out her door and found Ron's head sticking out of his own, neck craning to look down the stairs. She grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him into another kiss, just as suddenly, just as clumsily, and just as forcefully.

_Pop!_

"BED! _TO! BED!_" Mrs. Weasley commanded, separating them and pushing them into their respective rooms. Quickly, she put a locking spell on both doors that would only be removed when she called them for breakfast the next morning. Still she couldn't make them sleep, and behind the one door and the next stood a grinning, red-faced and breathless Ron and Hermione.


End file.
